Hearts in Ice
by arslonga91
Summary: Elsa faces enemies from without and within as she assumes the mantle of queenship. In her delicate balancing act between desire and duty, the heart and the mind, she comes to discover there are those who would snatch the crown from her head … and those who escaped the wrath of the mighty are not yet done with their schemes for power and revenge.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

* * *

"I have a proposition that will, with your support, reap rewards the likes of which you have never seen or imagined," said the stranger.

"Dangling before me forbidden fruit that I've already tasted will win you no favors, lad." The Weselton merchant-prince steepled his fingers and closed his eyes as he considered the young man's story, and the current situation.

In terms of money, very little in the world, except perhaps the fortune of a royal house, could impress this Weselton financier. He was a veritable Plutus, as his clients hailed him; a god of riches and generosity who spread happiness to all who came to share in his company's wealth.

The stranger's tale of the Snow Queen of Arendelle, though intriguing and entertaining in all its peripeties and dramatic irony—clearly laced with the fabric of magical splendor—was absurd. His proposal, and his confidence therein, even more so. He had a checkered past and was already guilty of attempted usurpation and regicide. Not a year had passed since his fall from grace, and he seemed eager to try his luck again. Far from content with silently letting his schemes for sweet revenge simmer in the dark, he struggled to rise from his ashes like the phoenix and soar above those who would bring him down.

The merchant shook his head in amusement and bewilderment. He admired his ambition, all right, but had to wonder if this bold young fellow was not afflicted with a touch of madness. Who did he think he was, anyway? A stranger in a strange land, he was no aristocrat, no warrior, no banker, even, but a lowly broker's clerk. One with a good head for figures and details, certainly, and a silvery tongue from which words spilled like milk and honey. But a paper-pusher was still a paper-pusher.

And yet he had airs about him, as well as a face to rival any prince's. His wide, far-gazing eyes were fringed with long lashes like a girl's and of a color the merchant had only ever observed in emeralds. His fine features seemed chiseled from marble, and his neatly cropped mane of hair, his noble posture and bearing, and his soft hands, which had startled the financier when he shook them earlier—all these lent credence to this would-be prince's pretensions. But not enough.

"Give me one good reason why I should believe you," the merchant demanded, "as opposed to having you removed from the premises and sent straight to the madhouse." Dropping his hands on his desk, he leaned in closer to the young man, who was unfazed by his threat.

"Because," he responded, a predatory grin slowly spreading across his angelic face, "I know your heart. It is as black and ruthless as mine. It is fired by greed so great as to melt even Lucifer's icy prison in Hell."

The merchant smiled. This young man was no phoenix rising from its ashes. He was the Devil himself.


	2. For Queen and Country

**Chapter 1**

**For Queen and Country**

* * *

"Bring him in, Kai."

Hearing the tremor in her voice as she directed her chamberlain, Queen Elsa took a deep breath to steady her nerves, with modest success. Still taut as drawn bowstrings, she straightened up against the tall velvet back of her ceremonial throne. _Neck like a swan's, young lady. Back like a birch tree, little princess. Poise as unmoving and immutable as the mountains, my queen. Conceal. Don't feel. Tears will undermine you, passion is a fiery sword. Do not let anything that has struck you show. A queen can ill afford displays of womanly softness._

She looked ahead impassively as two of her guards frogmarched the smuggler into the chamber. She had come a long way since her coronation half a year ago. Instead of balling up her fists, stamping her feet and blowing everyone away with a burst of snow, as had been her wont once upon a time, she braced herself for the difficult task of cross-examining a man who had defied her maiden decree as queen.

A man who had once called himself close friend and adviser to her father, and who was now being marched into her audience chamber in chains.

The men's footsteps against the floor filled the vast, silent chamber and echoed her rapidly pounding heart like the beating of war drums. As the guilty man approached her vantage at the head of the room, Elsa looked him in the eye. His face was florid and his glare could have chiseled stone, a sharp deviation from his normally equable disposition.

A discreet, well-timed cough from Chief Magistrate Severin, the minister of justice who stood symbolically to her right, reminded Elsa of her privy council's presence. Normally the smuggler would have been brought up in custody to the bar, falling under Severin's jurisdiction, but the captain of her guard, responsible for capturing him in the first place, had seen fit to consign this special case to her. Elsa spared none of the members of her council of state a passing glance, but felt all eyes locked on her, attempting to divine her state of mind, decipher her thoughts, defend against her next move.

Never had the crown of Arendelle sat as heavily on its young queen's head as it did now.

"State your name and purpose for being here," she ordered the guilty man, though she knew well who he was and the reason behind his detainment.

"Morten," he replied. "A humble timber-merchant seeking to expand operations abroad."

Elsa raised an eyebrow at his cheek. "Hardly humble, and more than a timber-merchant." She found it hard to keep the edge from her voice. "You used to advise my father King Haakon on matters of trade and finance in his council of state. You are the current head of the Anker family, who owns vast tracts of forestland outside the city, and you proudly man the helm of a lucrative business in shipbuilding and glassmaking. You have recently made a purchase of newly mined iron veins in the eastern foothills, and it would seem a large percentage of your income stems from supplying the Weselton fleet with timber."

She all but read aloud the incriminating documents Kai had provided her earlier that morning: letters of correspondence and red-marked bookkeeping discrepancies, ship manifests as of the past five months and records of his purchases, funded by foreign money. In a climate of waning export revenues—partially her own doing, she realized with regret—his company profits would wax astronomically. But this Elsa could not admit, not to him, at least.

"Why enter Weselton on business knowing it was cordoned off?" she asked instead.

"_I_ wouldn't," he replied, "but my agents would."

Elsa ignored the impertinent comment, scarcely suppressing a scowl. "And you would stake your livelihood, your honor and fortune, for the sake of dealing with the Devil?"

He rolled his eyes at her questions. "You give me too little credit, my queen. I'm a merchant. My business _is_ risk. I have a keen sense of smell, I, and I smelled the sweet scent of money blowing towards Weselton's harbor. And whichever way the wind blows, whichever way the money flows, I follow."

"Clearly," she said slowly, "the fantasy of landing a windfall eclipsed the reality of paying a hefty fine, not to mention facing ignominy, for defying the terms of my sanction on Weselton."

"Not fantasy," he dissented, "but precedent. For twenty years I've run a thriving business with Weselton, and then you brought all that to an end. What could I do? I had to find some way to keep bringing bread to the table, didn't I? Unlike royalty, some people must work in order to eat."

Kai bristled, his round face red with rage. "You would speak to your queen with such insolence?"

Elsa put up a hand, grateful for her chamberlain's loyalty, but wishing to take this man to task herself.

"I speak to her as a well-meaning friend of her late father's would," Morten said simply. "And as a loyal servant of Arendelle."

"A loyal servant of Arendelle who would flout its laws and fraternize with the enemy for his own profit?" the chief magistrate probed.

Elsa frowned as she mulled over the situation. Morten's assertions did not add up and left numerous gaps in logic. He was clearly withholding crucial nuggets of information, as warily as he would have hoarded his newly acquired stores of iron ore and gold. And God knew what else.

"Surely you are in this for more than money," she said carefully. "Weselton is hardly the only country with whom we may trade."

Morten looked at her gravely. The anger in his sharp gaze, to her surprise, had softened. "On the contrary. Rumor has it Weselton plans to respond in kind to your embargo and pass a decree forbidding its partners from doing business with Arendelle."

Feeling the familiar frost form over the ridge of her knuckles and the hairs on the nape of her neck prickle, Elsa clutched the arms of her throne. She heard Kai's intake of breath and saw the foreign minister's eyes grow wide as saucers, but swallowed her own gasp of surprise. The man's words startled her, and yet not. Indeed, how could she expect Weselton _not_ to retaliate in some way to her sanction?

"Where did you uncover this piece of information?" she asked Morten calmly.

His eyes darted around the room, taking in the rest of the company before resting on her. "I would reveal that, and more," he said. "But it is for the queen's eyes and ears alone. First I must be freed of my chains and restored the parcel which Captain Halvor has so thoughtfully confiscated from me. Then, and only then, will I share what I know."

Elsa turned to her captain of the guard, who crossed his arms. "I don't like this idea," he said gruffly. "There's something about a man defies queen and country for personal profit that leaves a sour taste in my mouth. And that leaves me disinclined to take seriously whatever wild claims come from his."

"My father trusted this man," Elsa countered.

"Who would disregard his daughter's orders." He lowered his voice. "I'm a soldier, Your Majesty. I don't take kindly to disobedience. More importantly, I am responsible for your safety and cannot leave you alone in criminal company with a clean conscience."

"And I cannot afford to let any potential lead about Weselton's intentions fall through the cracks," Elsa said just as quietly, "no matter the source."

Halvor was silent, his mouth a dagger's slash across his hawkish face.

"Besides, captain," she added with a half-smile, "you have thoroughly searched the man, and I am more than capable of defending myself should the need arise. Don't forget, I am far from a helpless girl, but the battle-ready Snow Queen of Arendelle."

Halvor narrowed his hooded eyes, which made his face appear even more hawk-like. "As Your Majesty sees fit. But I shall be standing vigil right outside, ready to defend at a moment's notice." He ordered his men to remove Morten's shackles and everyone to exit the room.

The finance minister began to protest about missing an opportunity to hear valuable intelligence firsthand, but stopped, to Elsa's relief, when Kai reminded him of his place. With reluctance, if intrigued by what secrets the smuggler had to share and not fearful for the queen's safety, each member of the privy council and each guardsman filed out of the audience chamber. Their frock coats and brocade robes rustled, their medals and weapons clanged, their boots and dress shoes thudded.

Halvor returned with a silk drawstring bag, which he handed to Morten cagily. He gave the queen one final, meaningful glance, as if to remind her of his presence outside. He swept a deep bow before he left the room, shutting the doors slowly behind him.

Elsa rose to her feet and came close to Morten, the better to read him. "Now, as promised, you must answer my question," she demanded, facing him head-on. "Where did you learn of this scheme to isolate Arendelle?"

He returned her gaze, unblinking. "From the stranger who provided this parcel."

"Open it." Elsa folded her arms, looking at him skeptically.

He pulled open the drawstring cords and reached inside to take out its contents, and presented them to Elsa.

Elsa's heart nearly stopped at the sight before her eyes: a torn fragment of her icy cape, silk sheer as a sheet of ice, sprinkled with crystal teardrops, glass beads and silvery snowflake embroidery, like stars in the sky.

Like extinguished stars. The cape, or what remained of it, looked the worse for wear, stained with dirt and grime. Loose filaments dangled from its frayed edges, and a thick, foul stench that Elsa could not identify clung to it like sea scum to a ship's hull. Her hands, clutching the remains of the cape she had created on the eve of her independence, trembled. Her frosty fists clenched, crushing the silk.

That the cape itself was spoiled did not unsettle her, for she could craft another one with ease; a burst of inspiration and a simple snap of the fingers sufficed. It was the evocation of the memory that stung. Elsa had worn it during the ambush on North Mountain. One of the Duke of Weselton's men-at-arms—the swarthy, bearded one, she recalled faintly—had grabbed her cape and torn off parts of the delicate fabric before attempting to skewer her.

Before she managed to send him flying away and nearly impaled him with icy thorns.

"How did you come by this?" she asked Morten in a hoarse voice, holding the torn silk up for emphasis. "Who gave this to you?"

The man's eyes moved from her trembling hands to her face. "One of my associates recruited an informant in Weselton," he replied. "I was told, by my man, that they had rendezvoused in a tavern. The stranger was cloaked and refused to show his face, saying it was scarred and would have drawn too much attention, but, according to my agent, had a voice like 'liquid silver,' 'the sweetest mead'—"

Elsa cut him off with a wave of the hand to show she had seized the point by now, but permitted herself a small smile. As she remembered vaguely from her youth, during her lessons her father had once joked that this financial councilor did not have a poetic bone in his body. That quality evidently extended to his friends as well.

"The stranger gave this to him and said that I was to pass this on to the queen of Arendelle," Morten continued, "and that she would know who it was. What it meant."

"Well, what of it?" Elsa frowned. "There is little love lost between the Duke of Weselton and me. He hardly needs to return tattered remains of my ice cape to remind me that he wants me dead."

Then again, subtlety never was the old weasel's strong suit. To add insult to injury, he would enact this gesture via a man who had flouted her laws. A man who could well be a defector, or worse, working for both sides. A man who seemed to want to help her privately—perhaps out of a lingering sense of loyalty to the memory of her late father?—and yet openly defied her. A man who thoroughly puzzled her.

"Why?" she asked, more to herself than to Morten. "Why jettison all you hold dear to play games in the shadows?"

"Because," Morten answered, "there is no love I consider greater than love of my country. I believe, Your Majesty, dark days await Arendelle. Weselton is an economic and military powerhouse, with state-of-the-art weaponry and the money to finance large-scale wars. Weselton nurses a poisonous grudge and outsize ambitions and thinks you a wicked sorceress. Your life is in great danger."

"Tell me something I don't already know," Elsa said, somewhat more bitterly than she intended. "When do they aim to issue this decree of which you speak?"

"After the passing of the New Year."

"And what are its specific terms?"

He shook his head sadly and raised his hands. "I have told you all that I know. I suspect the next logical step would be a blockade."

Elsa swallowed a lump in her throat. "I don't suppose you have additional news of an even grimmer sort to report?"

"I've no more tangible proof than your cloak, only my suspicions. Were I to raise them with you now, I doubt you or your council would take them seriously. After all, it would appear I am a traitor. A fraud." He smiled crookedly. "But at a time like this, it's best you trusted no one."

Elsa narrowed her eyes. "Not even you?"

To that, he had no response.

Elsa realized that this was all the information she could wring out of this inscrutable man, at least for now. She wrapped the remnants of her cape in the purse and cleared her throat emphatically.

"I thank you for sharing these tidings," she stated. "They are most useful to me. You may be consulted for more information in the future. In spite of recent circumstances, you were once a trusted councilor of my father's." She paused, preparing herself for the inevitable, and bit her lip to mask the emotions subordinate to what her queenly duties demanded of her now. She could barely muster the force to utter the next phrase, and tried to keep the tremor from her voice. "All the same, violators of the Weselton Trade Embargo must be punished."

She turned towards the heraldic tapestry overhanging her throne, as much to remind the smuggler of his fate as herself of her duty. A golden crocus, the crest of Arendelle, glittered in the light of the winter sun pouring in through the blue-and-gold stained-glass windows. Its petals were unfurled like a young angel's wings against a blood-red field. In golden letters, in the ancient language, was etched the inscription: "With law shall be built the land, and not laid waste by lawlessness."

"You will serve out six months in prison," she told Morten Anker as evenly as she could, "and pay a large fine in recompense of your defiance of the letter of the law."

He inclined his head. "The queen is most merciful and just."

Unable to face him, Elsa turned away and threw open the doors. Halvor was manning the entrance, as he had promised. "Take him away," she commanded him.

"Majesty." The captain saluted her and called on his guards to seize Morten, who turned around as he was being led away. He gave a glance that pained Elsa, for it was not out of vengeful anger, but sorrow, that he looked her way.

She averted his gaze and rested her eyes on a small clock that hung on the wall, a gilt Rococo bronze adorned with acanthus leaves and cherubs, favored by her father. It was not yet eleven o'clock, and she had already sentenced a man. She tightened her grip on the silk purse, bracing herself for the second battle she must fight this morning.

* * *

**Author's Note and References**

The quote "With law shall the land be built, and not laid waste by lawlessness" comes from the Frostathing Law, one of Norway's most ancient laws, dating from around 1260.

Apologies to the real Anker family, with whom my fictional Morten Anker has no connection other than the same surname and trade.

Also, I did take some artistic license regarding Elsa's battle with the Duke of Weselton's men. In the film, the thugs never got to touch a single hair on her head, if I recall correctly (haven't seen the film in a while, and was too dazzled by the pretty lights and singing snowmen to put all these details to memory).


	3. Crisis in the Kingdom

**Chapter Two**

**Crisis in the Kingdom**

* * *

Elsa clutched the purse to her chest like a shield as she followed the towering Captain Halvor down the hall to the royal council chamber, where the weekly meeting with her privy council took place.

Kai was waiting for her at the door, regarding her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Your Majesty …?" he started. His watery blue eyes traveled to the bundle she held in her arms.

Elsa smiled weakly. "I'm quite all right. Thank you, Kai. Would you please hold on to this for me and put it in my study later? I believe I have kept you waiting long enough."

"Very good, milady." He took the purse gingerly, as if it might bite him, and wrinkled his bulbous nose at the odor. He allowed her a moment to brush off any imagined dust from her cape and adjust her deep blue skirts—considerably more understated than the glittering ice gown that he unwittingly held in his hands.

When Elsa nodded to indicate that she was ready, Kai stepped through the doorway and moved aside to give her room. "The queen!" he proclaimed. His stentorian voice resonated in the chamber, and its familiar timbre filled Elsa's heart with courage.

Immediately, in well-rehearsed unison, the members of her royal council of state, who sat around a long, rectangular mahogany table that almost spanned the entire length of the room, rose to their feet. The creak of wooden chairs dragging along the marble floor cut across the frosty silence like the scraping of a keen-edged blade.

Straightening her posture, Elsa strode inside, Kai and the captain at her heels, everyone else standing at respectful attention in silence. When she had taken her seat at the head of the table, the men returned to theirs. Hers was the only chair in red velvet and gold—slightly less garish than the ceremonial throne in the audience chamber, but distinct enough from the officials' blue-upholstered chairs to render it worthy of royalty. The room's general color scheme, of deep royal blue and stark marble white, appealed to Elsa's aesthetic tastes and reflected the formal, cerebral nature of the activities carried out in this space.

As Elsa scanned the room, she noticed the wide gamut of expression manifest on her men's faces, much as they tried to hide it. Some, like Halvor's and the justice minister's, were guarded, with arms folded; others, such as Kai's, the foreign minister's and the mayor's, had more open expressions and gazed at her inquisitively. She knew that deep down, all burned with curiosity to discover what, precisely, she had learned from Morten Anker.

But that would come in due time. For now, convention took precedence. Elsa had been attending council meetings since she turned sixteen, at the behest of her father. While initially her head spun at the sophisticated register of dialogue, she came to discover, after a few years, that they all ran together and followed an ancient, unchanging routine.

As ruler of Arendelle, Elsa presided over the meetings both in a symbolic and functional sense. She followed her father's example in that regard, though she remembered he had participated more actively in the discussion than she did now. For now, she prepared questions in advance, and the council, who helped her steer the ship of state, updated her on the goings-on in their respective spheres of expertise. Following that, the council would move on to debate the salient points raised and hopefully reach some kind of conclusion before closing the meeting at noontime.

Today's meeting was no exception to the rule, commencing with the usual discussion of practical affairs in the kingdom. The justice minister and the kindly Bishop Matthias, who had officiated at Elsa's coronation ceremony, had nothing of general interest to share. Nor did her captain of the guard, to her relief; in addition to protecting her person, Halvor was responsible for maintaining order in the city proper, and of late it appeared the streets had never been quieter.

"Clearly your men have been steering clear of the fish market," interjected Minister Jonas, in charge of finance, trade and customs. "Not that I'd blame them. Just yesterday, I made a trip to the quai myself, in search of the freshest cod. I was pleasantly greeted by angry fishwives bellyaching about high bread prices."

Elsa frowned. Though her finance minister had much insight to offer, she could not bring herself to appreciate his brazen manner. Jonas was younger, and brasher than the others, and had leaned one elbow on the mahogany surface, a hand propping up his chin. She half expected him to put his feet up on the table.

"I don't suppose you have news of your own to report, minister?" she asked him. "You seem to have your ear to the ground. How are our markets doing?"

"I'm pleased to report increased profits on several fronts," he replied. "Fledgling industries, namely ice and textiles, are starting to take flight in the absence of competition from Weselton. The ice trade, in particular, has generated much revenue. All thanks to increasing interest rates, the export subsidy and our … royal ice master's efforts to expedite transport. But profits from textile manufacturing are marginal at best. I haven't brought my ledgers with me today, but if Your Majesty should like to see them …"

Elsa permitted herself a smile. She would have to thank Kristoff for his help later. "No, that's quite all right. And as for the rising bread prices?"

"Majesty, you must forgive me in advance for my bluntness," Jonas pressed her in a tone that suggested anything but an apologetic conscience. "What I have to say about this will not please your ears."

Pleasure gone now, Elsa waved a hand in dismissal of his long-winded preface. "I'd rather you told me what I needed to hear," she insisted, "instead of what I wanted to hear."

He paused. "First, I must echo my initial sentiments regarding the Weselton sanction. I fear it augurs mostly ill for Arendelle's economy."

Elsa folded her hands on her lap and looked him levelly in the eye.

His dark eyes were shining. "As you're well aware, the embargo has generated a booming smuggling business. Morten Anker is merely the tip of the iceberg. If you'll pardon the ill-timed pun, Majesty."

At last, someone had brought up the question no one else dared to ask. Elsa wondered why she was even somewhat surprised that it was Jonas who rose to the occasion.

"Do not give short shrift to this case." Halvor crossed his arms. "The man has impressive clout and connections."

"I'm not making light of your victory, captain," the finance minister assured him, "only trying to delve deeper beneath the surface."

The hawk-nosed captain shot him a look of such disdain as to make Elsa cringe, slightly. But Jonas appeared unfazed.

Ignoring him, he turned to Elsa. "Aren't Morten's actions at odds with his character?" he asked. "A man known to your father as a trusted friend and adviser would cook his company books, undervaluing profits, and then make a high-profile purchase at a time like this."

"I see your point," Elsa concurred, in spite of herself. "It would appear he wanted to be caught. He cast the bait and we bit willingly."

"Indeed. And what sort of trap might he be setting up, to turn himself over to the authorities like this? The man is bold, and more than a little mad, I'll give him that." He turned to Halvor. "This was certainly a plum assignment for you, captain. And for the harbormaster who spotted him."

"On that note, may I add," Mayor Henrik chimed in, "crucial as it is to overseeing the ingress and egress of vessels, the harbormaster's office is costing the city and crown more than it warrants. We could increase docking fees, which would generate additional revenue through the harbormaster and render his position self-sufficient. Thus the crown need no longer defray unnecessary outlays on its behalf."

"As our own ships rot in the wharf?" Jonas snorted. "You may as well revoke the position and close our harbor for winter."

"I hardly think isolating ourselves the solution to our problems," Otto, the minister of foreign affairs, put in.

Though Elsa knew it was far from his intention, his words stung. She bit her lip, as if it helped steel her mind against the surge of sentiment that such an innocent comment elicited, and sighed.

"The people are hungry, and underground trade thrives with Weselton," she said dully. "What would you propose I do, then, gentlemen?"

"The bulk of our wealth stems from trade with other nations," the finance minister began. "This was a precedent set up by your grandfather, who saw the potential weight our resources could bring to bear on world markets. While most of Europa was at war, we remained neutral. And profited. As the castle was closed and generated less revenue than usual, our citizens had to buy and sell almost everything abroad. But Arendelle's harbor enjoyed a freer flow of goods then. In light of recent events, and the grain shortage, I would suggest levying a duty on certain Weselton goods, or setting a quota."

Elsa's fists clenched, safely hidden beneath the table. She heard, rather than felt, the familiar frost take shape under the surface, the sound like splintering wood or cracking bones. She hoped none of the others could hear it.

"Are you saying I should lift the trade restriction, minister?" she asked in a tight voice.

"It would seem Weselton wants to prevent the Continent from doing business with us altogether," he observed. "What will it come to next? A blockade? War? An end to free trade as we know it? I fear that in times like these, appeasement is de rigueur. Especially as Weselton looks eastward for resources, and not always through peaceful means."

"Can we even trust Morten's intelligence?" Halvor muttered. "The jury's still out on its accuracy. And his credibility." He glanced sidelong at the queen, but she remained stone-faced.

"Minister Jonas is quite fond of slippery slopes," Otto said, "and Morten's piece of intelligence, if you could even call it that, is thin ice to be treading on." As if realizing his slip, he inclined his head in contrition towards Elsa. "Apologies, my queen. But your powers over the ice and snow serve as a powerful deterrent to invasion, be it by land or sea."

"The diplomat among us seems to have a rather cavalier attitude towards war," Halvor noted wryly.

Otto smiled. "Of course, I am not a soldier. I think it wisest to consult with you and Admiral Magnus on this matter, but he is not here today. Be that as it may, I wouldn't put it past Duke Arthur to respond with a trade sanction of his own. He is a poor ambassador for his people, as petty as the footman who polishes his boots. He's also a shrewd, if unscrupulous, businessman."

"I still believe the weasel committed no crime," Jonas asserted, "other than trying to wring out more favorable terms of trade."

Elsa frowned. "The man tried to have me killed!"

"And he got his due punishment. Two right royal kicks up his scented backside, one after the other. From the sorceress queen of Arendelle and his brother the king, no less. Small wonder he may wish to negotiate more … vigorously now."

"You go too far, Jonas," Kai warned.

He ignored the warning and stared Elsa in the eye. "International politics is a blood sport, Majesty. With higher stakes than wounded pride."

Without thinking Elsa rose to her feet, slamming her hands on the table. "Enough," she cried. She could scarcely continue to tolerate the smug smirk on this man's face, or his brassy, patronizing tone of voice.

To his credit, Jonas took the hint. Mouth firmly shut and eyes wide as saucers, he was silent and no longer simpering now.

A sharp, crackling sound drew Elsa's eyes downward. Only then did she realize, with a twinge of regret, what she had done. Tendrils of frost, like creeping vines, inched from her fingers across the mahogany surface towards Jonas, who pointedly looked away from her and focused on the solid sheet of ice that began forming on the table. Elsa felt, rather than saw, everyone else stare at her: Kai and Bishop Matthias with sympathy, Captain Halvor and Minister Otto with guarded concern, Mayor Henrik with clear terror.

"I … I'm sorry," she stammered. Her reaction was uncalled for. How could she lose her temper like this?

Unable to face her councilors, she closed her eyes, the better to channel her energy into thawing the ice. After three tries she finally managed to dispel it. Her brow dewed with sweat from the exertion, she all but collapsed back into her seat.

"Minister Jonas, I seek your counsel on the economic health of the state, and the measures to preserve it." She kept her voice as even as she could. "If you would continue to criticize my personal failings, and make inroads on Minister Otto's jurisdiction, then I must ask you to leave."

Jonas was at a loss for words, for once, and bowed his head. "Humblest apologies, Your Majesty," he muttered. "I forget my place."

"You are forgiven." Elsa drew her cape more tightly around her, as if to better contain the arctic winds swirling inside. "Now, there are several factors in addition to Weselton that concern us," she said, as if nothing had happened. "Earlier you mentioned grain shortages and the resultant rise in bread prices." Thinking of fishwives at the market, and their hungry children, she felt a stab of guilt. "How are our granaries holding up?"

"Quite well," Jonas answered. "However, in case of a true famine, we cannot sell more than fifteen percent of royal stores to the public."

"So the impact of our granaries on market prices is negligible. I see." She held a sigh. "It would seem you do not consider us to be in the midst of a 'true' famine. Still, is rationing our reserves out a reality we may have to face?"

He shook his head. "It's possible, but not likely. That is a drastic measure for a desperate situation. Even if Weselton were to impose a trade restriction, we can continue to import grain from nations with whom they are at odds. Our budget for what remains of this quarter can support an additional purchase that will more than carry us through the winter. Provided the supplies keep coming, of course."

"Is there anything we can do at home to lessen the people's burden?"

"Indeed. We've a whole host of tools and policies at our disposal. We could establish a price ceiling, for example, or discourage price gouging by making it a capital offense, punishable by death."

"This, from a man who calls rationing a drastic measure." The justice minister Severin chuckled.

"Above all," Jonas continued, ignoring the jibe, "we need to be able to ensure lower prices and a reliable grain supply to the people. By whatever means necessary."

Elsa would have pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes were she not in public. She had never imagined the Weselton sanction would lead to such serious consequences for her people. She did not wish for them to suffer on account of her mistakes, but was loath to sweep discreetly under the rug the Duke of Weselton's deplorable actions for the sake of maintaining a façade of friendly relations. It may have even been too late for her to call the proclamation off now.

Elsa turned to the mayor, who was pointedly avoiding her gaze. "How are the people faring in this dire state of affairs, Mayor Henrik?" she asked him. "Please give me an honest appraisal."

Visible beads of sweat had formed on Henrik's brow and quivering lips, which he frantically wiped with a handkerchief. Feeling pity for the poor man, Elsa gave a small smile.

That seemed to calm him. Confident that the queen was no longer planning to freeze him into a solid block of ice, Henrik breathed a sigh of relief.

"The people are … restless, Your Majesty," he said. "Especially those whose trades were affected by the early frost. You must forgive me when I say this past summer's harvest has been less … fruitful than in recent years."

"Because of me, no doubt," she said, barely able to keep the bitterness from her voice. _But can I blame them? Snow Queen or not, can you really expect people to adapt to blizzards and ice floes in July?_

Not long after the Great Thaw, thousands of dead fish were found floating in the harbor or washed up ashore. Then came the succession of crop failures in the surrounding countryside, one after the other. To say nothing of the sick and frail, whose poor health deteriorated in the cold. Many succumbed to their illnesses, a thing for which Elsa could never forgive herself.

To her detractors, who called the summer of her coronation the "Bitterest Summer," Elsa bore little ill will. Even now, as Jul approached, it seemed the land was still recovering from the shock she had dealt it, her people reeling from the violence of her eruption. For a moment her mind wandered to her palace on North Mountain, a solitary stronghold against unknown, unseen enemies. _I should have gone back as soon as I'd lifted the curse_, she thought bleakly. _Arendelle never needed me, anyway_. The kingdom was better off without her, for it would have been safe from her.

"No need to blame yourself, my queen," Otto said kindly. "The situation is hardly insurmountable, and far from singular. Our grain harvest has never been reliable. We have always preferred to turn to other nations with a relative advantage on this front. Namely …"

"The Southern Isles," Elsa said without thinking.

"Though we've enjoyed good relations in the past, I consider current ties somewhat … tenuous," Otto continued. "A visiting delegation is slated to dock at our shores in a fortnight, a rare sight these days. Otherwise, they've been holding back more than usual. I'm afraid I do not know why, unless it is related to the Weselton factor."

Elsa drummed her fingers on her lap. "Perhaps, then, we can discover more from this embassy. But how shall we approach them?"

The bishop, who had remained relatively silent until now, coughed. "I believe, Your Majesty, I may have the answer to this," he said. "It has to do with the young prince who attended your coronation."

* * *

**Author's Note**

Aside from the fact that Elsa's advisers make terrible puns, the point I wanted to make here was that, as history has proven, trade embargoes seldom achieve the intended effect and tend to hurt the imposing nation more than the one that is supposed to be punished. They also tend to escalate into wars, or exacerbate circumstances for belligerents. Just take Napoleon's Continental System or Thomas Jefferson's Embargo of 1807 as examples.

That said, rest assured this story won't be about Elsa and the Duke of Weselton one-upping each other with higher tariffs at each turn, because that would be just fascinating. Apologies for this dry, somewhat pedantic chapter, but it is, I think, important for establishing the political and economic reality that will serve as the story's backdrop. Thanks for sticking with me!

Also, did you get it? Arthur … Weasel … Don't explain the joke nevermind. Sorry, J.K Rowling. And Arthur Wellesley.


	4. A Simple Solution

**Chapter Three**

**A Simple Solution**

* * *

All eyes turned to the scarlet-cassocked bishop, who may have chosen to project his voice from the pulpit, but did not see fit to raise it in the council chamber. Even at its softest, his voice drew others, who would strain to hear his every word.

Elsa remembered how Father Matthias had lowered his voice to a soothing whisper when he passed her the orb and scepter at her coronation ceremony, and raised it to a resounding shout to the people immediately afterwards. She wished that she, too, had the power to enthrall everyone with her voice.

"Father Matthias, you and Princess Anna interacted often with the former prince Hans during his … visit," she said. "From my sister, I've heard much about his weakness for open-faced sandwiches and the weakness of his own open face as she rammed her fist into it." This elicited laughs from around the table, and she smiled, in spite of herself. "I would be grateful if you, too, could share what you learned from him, about him. Especially as you seem to consider it relevant to improving relations with the Southern Isles."

"Precisely what I mean to do, my queen," he replied. "During his time here, the young prince was most eager to speak with me. He opened up to me quickly and shared many of his private concerns. He was honest, even at our first meeting following your coronation in the cathedral."

"Making a confidant out of a cleric, how pious of him," Jonas said dryly.

The bishop was solemn. "The young man may have acted mostly in his own interest," he said, "but he knew well how to please the people. And I believe that he felt some genuine concern for the sick and poor to whom he distributed food and clothing during the freeze."

Elsa considered his words carefully.

"No need to give that traitor more credit than his due," Halvor growled. "He manipulated the lot of us with his pretty manners. Sidling like a snail towards our queen's throne, sweet-talking the young princess, backstabbing anyone who got in his way … It makes me sick to think about it."

"Father Matthias mentioned the prince revealed many private concerns." Shying from the personal, Elsa sought to direct the focus away from the pains of the too-recent past and to the matter at hand. "I, for one, should like to hear them."

The bishop inclined his head, and the purple and gold embroidery on his miter flashed in the sunlight that streamed through the window. "Seeing that Hans nearly killed my queen," he declared, "I have no qualms about breaking my oath as a man of God to keep silent on his secrets." He paused for effect. "Apparently, the boy harbored … complex sentiments toward his brothers."

Otto gave a grin so wide that it revealed all of his teeth, usually hidden beneath a sweeping, imperial moustache. "Ah, but of course!" he exclaimed. "You're a genius, father! Why didn't I ever think of it? That's it!"

"And what would 'it' be, precisely?" Kai asked on behalf of everyone in the room. The bishop only gave the foreign minister a quizzical look, wondering what he could have said to earn such a compliment.

"While I've yet to learn the details of the Southern Isles' delegation," Otto began, "I can venture to guess that at least one of the princes of the blood will be present. I have a candidate in mind." He put a hand on his left temple, as if digging for some obscure piece of information buried in his memory palace. "Prince Axel. Tenth in line to the throne. A fine scholar and warrior, and apparently quite handsome. Unmarried and unattached, as are all his brothers closest to him in age."

Elsa raised an eyebrow. "It would seem, minister, you have done your due diligence and can make a personal recommendation!"

"I'm certain he won't be the only one," Otto continued, as if he hadn't heard her. "No doubt another brother will accompany him. Perhaps even a third. To apologize in person for their youngest brother's actions. Certainly to cement our relationship. Which could mean …" He was positively beaming at this point.

Elsa had never seen her foreign minister so beside himself with joy, and would have found the sight comical if not for the gravity of the matter they were discussing. She had a keen sense of where Otto intended to steer this council's course, and liked it not.

"I suggest you temper your enthusiasm, minister," she said coolly. "I will not let you use my sister as a pawn in your diplomatic matchmaking."

Otto's smile curdled. "As far as we're aware, the rogue prince acted alone. His family had nothing to do with it." He paused. "To her credit, Princess Anna understands as much."

"I doubt my sister would agree to consort with the relations of a man who deceived her and left her to die," Elsa responded. _Which had been my fault_, she thought with a pang of guilt.

"Perhaps Your Majesty would consider visiting princes as possible consorts," Otto retorted, "and not ice sculptures to decorate your bedroom."

Elsa felt herself flush with anger. "What kind of person do you take me for?"

He looked remorseful. "Apologies, my queen. A bad joke." He coughed and fidgeted with his cravat. "Nevertheless, I must insist that a rapprochement with the Southern Isles is in our best interests. A marriage of state would only smooth its course."

"I'd sooner build an ice bridge between our countries than force my sister into a marriage with that snake's family," Elsa said through clenched teeth.

"There must be another way," Kai offered diplomatically, in a hopeful attempt to defuse the tension in the air.

"It may be the only solution," Otto countered. "We've hardly been making headway on other fronts. Where have all their grain shipments gone?"

"Who knows?" Jonas, again. "But Moskva, our great neighbor to the east, is a nation with whom we're on pleasant enough trading terms and with whom Weselton is on less-than-friendly terms. We've historic ties with Fontange. Corona is a good source to develop further. The young couple who attended the queen's coronation didn't strike me as hard bargainers. There are nations that _don't_ make you pay through the nose for apples." He glanced at Elsa sidelong, and coughed. "This is, of course, if Her Majesty has hardened her heart to the Southern Isles."

"The princes seem to have hardened their hearts to their own brother," Otto persisted. "I would go so far as to say they bear that traitor as little love as the queen does." He glanced around the table in anticipation of murmurs of support. When they did not come, he appended, "As we all do."

"But why send a royal delegation now?" Kai ran a hand through his thinning red hair, bemused. "It's hardly sailing weather. Besides, they didn't even bother with a princeling to deliver their letter of apology. Just a regular emissary." He wrinkled his nose, as if personally snubbed. "Should we repay such a slight with a warm welcome, let alone a marital alliance?"

After several breaths, Elsa closed her eyes and sighed. The past was in the past, she reminded herself. As had been revealed to her in an official missive from the King of the Southern Isles, upon return Hans had been humiliated before his brothers and the peers of the realm, stripped of his royal title and prerogative and banished from the land. Elsa knew it would have been for the best that she amicably welcomed the Southern Isles' embassy, as her foreign minister insisted she should do. They had, after all, a common enemy, and had once enjoyed nearly symbiotic relations.

Moreover, Elsa needed to gather as many allies as possible, in case she—Arendelle—had to face Weselton's wrath.

"It's half past, Queen Elsa." Kai's pleasant voice drew her out of her thoughts. She could have kissed him for his impeccable timing, but only thanked him for the reminder, and rose to her feet. The members of council immediately followed suit.

"Gentlemen, we have had a lively discussion today," she declared. "We will continue this discussion of the Southern Isles next week. I thank you all for your wise counsel and honesty; they are much appreciated. I'm blessed to have such able and loyal ministers at my side."

The men nodded in grudging assent and, Elsa was pleased to note, appreciation. It was most likely, she thought wryly, because they were hungry.

"And Arendelle is blessed to have such an intelligent young queen at her helm," the bishop responded. "Your father would be proud."

Feeling unworthy of their confidence and fealty, or, at least, their show of it, Elsa thanked them again and bade them all take their leave, save the bishop. "Father, if I may have a quick word with you?" she asked as the others began to file out of the chamber.

"Of course, Your Grace." The sunlight bathed him in an otherworldly golden light, his scarlet cassock and miter glittering.

"I don't mean to pry," Elsa said softly as she approached him, "but I must know, what did Hans tell you in the cathedral after my coronation?"

His pale blue gaze was serene. "When all the guests had left," he began, "the young prince approached me, appearing quite agitated. He asked how God might allow a creature such as him in His hallowed halls, a creature that harbored ill thoughts, spoke ill words and had done ill deeds. I told him that all men were like that, but that we have been redeemed by Christ, who died on the cross to save us from our sins."

Elsa did not know what to make of Hans' words. "What did he say in response?"

"Surely, the youth maintained, the blood of Christ never flowed his way; the ocean couldn't wash the mortal blood clean from his hands. I assured him otherwise, for even an earthly father might celebrate the return of a prodigal son who had gone astray and embrace him with open arms."

"And what was his response to that?" she asked quietly.

The bishop's lips formed a straight line across his face. "'Would he ever welcome home a fallen angel, father?'"

Elsa was silent. She had heard quite enough. "I wonder how his family might have raised such a creature as him," she mused, "and what kind of men his brothers are, to have turned him into what he is today."

"Don't fret, Your Majesty," the bishop said kindly. "You're yet young, and the princes of the Southern Isles won't be the only eligible bachelors who come to your court."

Elsa's eyes traveled to the miter that crowned his head, adorned with the crocus of Arendelle in regal purple. She looked past his shoulder at Otto's retreating back. "I hardly think my foreign minister sees it that way," she said glumly. "And my sister is not going to be happy about this."

* * *

"So … how was the council meeting? Were those old geezers more boring than usual? Did you get a chance to freeze Mayor Henrik's wig? Well, I guess you could say he's already kind of frozen in time; it's like he's living in the past. You'd be doing him a huge favor, if you were to freeze him—his wig, I mean. I think he'd appreciate it. We'd all appreciate it. He should really get rid of that fluffy, powdery eyesore before Kristoff accidentally, meaning purposely, on my orders, sics Sven on him and he gobbles it all up …"

Blinking at Elsa's silent response, Anna took a split second to grasp what was wrong and swiftly clapped a hand over her mouth. She prided herself on the quick cover-up; she'd shut herself up before she could cause any more damage. She knew she was doing it again—rambling. _Monopolizing the conversation_, as Elsa put it. Bad habits you tried to shed were sneaky, biding their time in the dark and rearing their ugly heads the moment you thought you'd overcome them.

To make matters worse, they always seemed to resurface at the worst time, in the presence of the person who tolerated them least.

Anna lowered her head towards her plate in an effort to look contrite, and glanced up at her sister before she speared a piece of roast mutton with her fork and sank her teeth into the flesh, dripping with a rich red sauce. The juicy meat melted in her mouth in an explosion of lingonberry, and she squealed with delight at the sweet and sour notes, and the subtlest gamey accent that reminded her of the great outdoors. Lingonberry was her favorite, and mutton was always welcome. As was chocolate. But not now; chocolate was for dessert. Or breakfast.

From what Anna could tell, Elsa had barely touched her salad, a mix of green, pink, orange and purple that teased her eyes from across the table. It worried Anna when people didn't eat, as she was always hungry, and it worried her even more when people wouldn't speak to her. She couldn't stand being ignored, not anymore. She may not be as smart or important as her big sister, but she was a young woman now, and a force to be reckoned with.

She cleared her throat. "Rough morning, huh?"

Stirred out of her reverie at last, Elsa widened her eyes. It was only then Anna noticed the dark circles under her eyes, which seemed dimmer than usual. Her fair skin looked unnaturally wan, too; there was hardly any rose in her cheeks. Her forced smile did not sparkle.

"I apologize, Anna, I was lost in thought," she finally said. "The council meeting went well, thank you for asking." She paused, as if preparing to speak more on that note, then decided against it. "But do explain this new hostility towards Mayor Henrik? You've never complained about him or his wig before. What's more, I don't think it's that bad." The light returned to her eyes, and Anna gave a silent cheer.

Grinning, she replied, "The other day, the old coot was making the rounds of the market, probably preparing for your meeting … and just happened to walk by as I accidentally knocked over a rutabaga cart. He … didn't seem too happy about it."

"I'm sure he took it in stride."

Anna winced as she pictured the pint-sized man, red-faced and roaring at her for her clumsiness. "I've never been shouted at so much before, not even when we were small," she admitted. "Are you allowed to berate royals like that? No, don't answer that. Anyways, _that's_ why I've borne him a bit of a grudge."

Elsa only shook her head in response, smiling, a little. Anna sighed. It was better than the silent treatment, but not enough.

"Aren't you going to finish that?" she asked concernedly, eyeing her salad. "If you're not going to … may I …?" She gave her sweetest smile.

"Of course, dear." With one hand Elsa gently pushed her plate towards Anna, who feasted her eyes on its contents: A beet and carrot salad, accompanied by several pieces of smoked salmon that had been thinly sliced like leaves and sprinkled with pungent dill. Anna dug into this lighter but more flavorful dish with gusto.

"Mmm, this looks, tastes and sounds delicious," she managed to utter between bites, enjoying the crunch as much as the flavor.

Elsa nodded. "It does. For the color and texture of the carrot, you couldn't tell it grew in fields ruined from an early frost. My frost." She looked melancholy.

"Aw, you've got to stop beating yourself up about that!" Anna tried her best to cheer her sister up while stuffing her face with a piece of buttered rye bread. "Lots of crops survived the Great Freeze. Potatoes, carrots and beets, for starters. They're tough cookies. Well, vegetables. Wait, are potatoes vegetables?"

"It's pretty how the beet paints the whole thing purple, isn't it?" Elsa didn't seem to have heard her. "Like the dye of the murex shell colors a cloak. Or your dress." Her eyes traveled to Anna's bodice.

She coughed, a little embarrassed. "Well, I never thought of it that way, but now that you mention it—"

"The salad is drenched in fiery Fontange mustard and vinegar fermented from Corona apples. More affordable than any fruit from the Southern Isles. To say nothing of the salmon, freshly plucked from our fjord and cold-smoked for a day, probably. The sprinkle of dill and lemon juice is a fine touch. Still, it is too salty for my tastes."

Anna's jaw dropped. It took her all her limited reserves of tact and grace, not to mention her uncommonly fast reflexes, to catch the half-chewed crudités that began to tumble out of her mouth with a napkin.

She cringed at Elsa's disapproving frown, but once she'd pulled herself together, she gave a low whistle. "Wow. And I thought _I_ was bad about waxing poetic about food. You take it to a whole other level, Elsa. You lost me at the shell. Sorry."

Elsa closed her eyes and put up a hand. "No, I'm sorry," she insisted. "Maybe we shouldn't have our weekly lunches after council … I'm afraid my ministers' rhetoric is rubbing off on me." She sighed and massaged her temples, but Anna wouldn't have any of it.

"Come on, sis. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the affairs of state weighed heavily on your brow or something. Or maybe," she added, raising a finger, "maybe you just need some sleep?"

"That, and some stronger coffee, too." Elsa took a dainty sip of her wine, then a second, deeper one. There followed another long moment of silence, during which she got that strange, faraway look in her eyes again, as if nothing existed but her own thoughts and her own world.

"You're doing it again!" Anna cried out, a little more loudly than she intended.

"Doing _what_?" Elsa barked.

Anna nearly jumped out of her seat, startled by the sharpness of her usually soft-spoken sister's reply. "You're—you're brooding," she whimpered. "If you can tell me not to ramble, then I can tell you to stop brooding, can't I? You're clearly troubled by something. Something you learned this morning."

Elsa looked taken aback. "Is it so obvious?"

"As clear as crystal. Why not share what's on your mind, for a change? Sometimes, holding back doesn't help. Sometimes, you've just got to let it go." She reached a hand across the table and squeezed her sister's hand, placed demurely on the table. Her skin was icy cold, colder than usual. "You don't have to shoulder Arendelle's burden alone, sis."

A grateful smile broke across Elsa's face, so lovely, so fleeting. It lit up her features, and Anna never thought her sister looked more beautiful than when she was smiling. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires, if only for the briefest of moments.

"You're right," she said softly. "Thank you, Anna. And I'm sorry for snapping at you." She was silent, and the pall covered her brow again. "To be honest, Arendelle's trade prospects are … uncertain. What's certain is that we've had a poor harvest this summer, and the people are hungry, in dire want of bread. While we sit here, singing the praises of fine wine and cuisine that we'll never finish."

That took the cake. Anna bristled. "Hey, speak for yourself! You're the one who's wasting food! I just cleaned your plate for you."

To her surprise, Elsa laughed. It was a pleasant sound, and Anna only wished she could hear more of it, seeing that she sobered up immediately. "Fair enough," she conceded. "But it's more than a matter of empty bellies. The people hate me for what I've done—with good reason."

Anna returned to her seat, and looked intently at Elsa. "Listen, Elsa. I may be younger than you, and not as smart as you, but I'm certainly not stupid. The people far from hate you, but they are intimidated by you. A little. I've got to admit, the ice rink was a great move, and the flashing snowflake lights? Genius. But they can't appreciate the person behind these works unless they actually see them up close."

"Are you saying …?" Elsa started, but Anna cut her off.

"The solution is simple, so simple that someone as brilliant as you couldn't possibly see it staring them in the face. In fact, it's because you don't ever look anyone in the face! Well, except me, and Kai, and Gerda, and your pompous privy council, and the evil mayor … Anyways, that's beside the point. Truth is, you're always working in your study or reading in the library. Not a bad thing for a queen, mind you, but sometimes you need a breath of fresh air. Why not make an unofficial trip into town? Mingle with the people more? Prove to them you're not to be feared?"

"A simple solution," she echoed. Her eyes twinkled again, as if Anna's idea finally struck her. In a flash she rose to her feet, but paused for several heartbeats before taking Anna's hand. "You're brilliant, Anna. What would I do without you? Let's go to the marketplace. Now."

"I know, right? Your book smarts, my people skills. Together, we make an unstoppable team. Wait, what?" Anna barely had time to protest as her sister yanked her up from her seat and dragged her away from the table and out of the dining room. "But we haven't even sampled the cheese course yet!"

* * *

**Author's Note and References**

Shout-out to Shakespeare, the Bible and several European countries whose names shall not be mentioned.

I find Anna a little easier to write than Elsa, but please send a virtual slap my way if I'm only deluding myself and she's out of character here. I figure she would be a big eater, though, given her boundless energy.

Feel free to PM me if you love talking about food. And _Frozen_. And anything, really, except for frozen food. Unless you dislike it, like me. Cheers!


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